Living in a Regret

I sat on the nicotine stained couch
at my Papaw's house, listening to him
and my mom talk about small town gossip.
We brought him over some Easter dinner,
including some of my mom's finest microwaveable creations,
such as corn casserole and potatoes
with a layer of semi-burnt cheese,
since we figured his usual can
of ravioli or vienna sausages
just wouldn't suffice for a holiday meal.
I watched how he slowly rocked back and forth
in his recliner, steadily licking his lips,
while grinding his index finger and thumb together
on his left hand.
His lone tattoo on his left forearm of
an anchor reminded me of all the times
my mother spoke about his days in the Navy as a teenager
in the Korean War, lying about his age
of only being fifteen so he could fly the planes.
His faded off-white button up shirt was the exact same one
my mom bought him for Christmas last year,
which he seemed so thankful for getting,
even though it was on sale for only a few dollars at Wal-Mart.
She just sat there smiling the entire time,
enjoying being with her father who she always referred to as the
'most perfect man in the world.'
All I could do was sit there
wondering why he was never the one who told
me about his war stories, or why
I only come to see him with my mother alongside me
on the few holidays of the year.
A few minutes later,
my brother called to tell me about my younger cousin
having a wreck on his 4-wheeler and being airlifted
to the children's hospital a few miles from where I live.
I asked the standard 'Is he okay,'
realizing I hadn't seen any of my family besides my mother
and now my grandfather since last Christmas.
After I hung up the phone,
we both said goodbye to my Papaw as he walked us outside.
I gave my mom a quick hug,
got into my car
and started on my way home.
I drove right past the children's hospital,
talking on the phone to one of my friends
about something I won't even remember after tomorrow.